


Other Countries

by carolinecrane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Series, Shower Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past is another country; they do things differently there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Other Countries

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the long-suffering [Jengeorge](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JENGEORGE/works). Someday I will buy her a pony. Or get her drunk. She'd probably like that better anyway.

It’s a mark of just how much they’ve all been through that being molested by the Giant Squid is far from the worst thing that’s happened to Seamus in his seventh year.

Though technically this is his second seventh year, and so far it’s been mostly alright. It’s been a sight different than the first one, at any rate, what with the lack of torture and Death Eaters and the addition of Harry and Ron and Hermione and Dean. 

That last bit’s the most important, at least as far as Seamus is concerned. Not that anyone's asked, but he reckons they shouldn't have to. Dean's been his best mate since their first year, after all. Things changed a bit during fifth year when everyone was choosing sides and Seamus chose the wrong one, then again during sixth when Dean started spending all his time with Ginny, but through it all they’ve still been best mates.

When Dean didn't come back for seventh year part of Seamus was glad, because it meant Dean didn't have to live through any of the hell Snape and the Carrows dished out. Only it turned out he was living through a different kind of hell, and when Dean came through the portrait looking thinner but blessedly alive, Seamus didn't even hesitate before he threw his arms around his best mate and held on tight.

That was as much as he got before the battle was in full swing, and after there were their families to deal with and wounds to heal and life to get back to. Except without Dean around it still felt a bit like something was missing all the time, as though he’d set something important down somewhere and couldn’t remember where to find it.

Seeing Dean again…it was like being able to breathe after being underwater for ages. It was a poncy thought, Seamus knew, which was why he’d never say it out loud, but that was how it felt. He reckons Dean might even understand, because as soon as they met at King’s Cross for their second go at seventh year, Dean grabbed Seamus and held on even tighter than he had the last time they saw one another. Then again, he’d had a few months to build up his strength after almost a year of being on the run, so that might have helped as well.

Whatever the reason, they’ve been stuck like glue ever since, just the two of them, side by side like in the old days. Before Harry and Dumbledore and The Prophet and even Ginny came between them, and Seamus knows it can’t last, because they won’t be at school forever, but he hopes for it all the same. Reckons they deserve it, after everything they went through in their first seventh year.

This year’s been better so far. There’s Dean, of course, by his side nearly every minute, as though he can’t stand being apart any more than Seamus can. There’s the rest of them too, Neville and Luna and all the others, and it seems as though Houses don’t matter so much anymore, at least not to the second-year Seventh Years. 

They still have separate classes and separate dormitories, still eat meals at their house tables, but in their free time they mostly tend to gather together somewhere without any sort of plan. It just…happens, and Seamus reckons it’s a habit after all the time they spent gathered in the Room of Requirement during their first seventh year.

Which is how they end up down by the lake on a warm afternoon not long after classes start up again, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and even the odd Slytherin or two. Dean’s right there next to him, laughing along with everyone else at one of Luna’s daft theories.

Seamus still isn’t sure how it happens; one moment Luna’s insisting on the existence of invisible creatures lurking in the lake waiting to muddle people’s minds or some nonsense, and the next Seamus is laughing and calling for volunteers to investigate the situation.

He isn’t sure who pushes him; reckons it might be Neville, considering the way he and Luna have been making eyes at each other since they got back to school. Which is hardly fair, considering he wasn’t taking the mickey, exactly. He was just having a bit of fun, and mostly Luna doesn’t seem to care all that much whether or not any of them believe her.

Doesn’t change the fact that he finds himself stumbling backwards into the lake, robes soaking up damp and dragging him further into the water. There’s a reason no one ever swims in the bloody lake; all manner of creatures lurk around in there, most of them unfriendly, if not downright dangerous. So he’s not surprised to feel something brush against his leg, and when a tentacle wraps around his calf, Seamus can guess what it is.

As far as he knows, the Giant Squid’s never actually killed anyone. Not that he’s heard, at any rate, but there’s a first time for everything. Seamus kicks his leg and the tentacle tightens a little more, dragging him further out into the lake, and that’s definitely not what he was going for.

“Oi, Seamus,” Dean calls from the shore, voice still filled with laughter, as though he hasn’t realized yet that Seamus isn’t just messing about.

Seamus opens his mouth to answer back, to tell Dean that he could use a hand here, because surely Neville wasn’t sore enough to leave him at the mercy of the Giant Squid. But when he opens his mouth to shout another tentacle slides up his robes and around his neck, over his mouth and all he manages to get out it a strangled ‘blergh’. Which about sums up the taste of tentacle, as it turns out, and Seamus is still gagging on squid slime when another tentacle pushes under his robe this time.

He feels it tighten around his midsection, brushing over his chest and holding him afloat in the water. The tentacle still wrapped around his leg is pressing uncomfortably close to the family jewels, and Seamus has a moment of panic when he’s sure the bloody thing’s not planning to let him go.

“Stop messing about, mate,” Dean calls, but the humor’s gone from his voice, as though perhaps he’s starting to worry a bit. It would be comforting if Seamus wasn’t being held afloat by a _sea monster_.

“Get off, you slimy git,” Seamus mutters, but all it does is make the tentacles tighten even more. He feels the tentacle around his neck start to compress and panics, hands coming up to claw at the rubbery flesh. 

“Oi, alright, I take it back,” he gasps, voice croaking with the effort to form the words. He’s not expecting it to work, but a second later the pressure on his neck lets up, then the tentacle around his middle squeezes a bit, as though the _squid’s_ taking the mickey.

He feels the water move around him and panics at the thought of the squid dragging him further out, below the murky water and even if he could reach his wand, Seamus never did master the Bubble-Head charm. And even if this is all just some weird sea monster version of a practical joke, Seamus knows he doesn’t have a chance of surviving if the squid decides to teach him a lesson.

He’s flailing as much as he can with three tentacles wrapped tight around him, the one on his thigh inching up further and further, and if he wasn’t so worried about drowning Seamus might be panicking at the thought of losing his virtue to the Giant Squid, of all things.

Except that instead of moving away, the shore’s getting closer. He can see Dean a little better, at any rate, sees the rest of his so-called friends climbing back up the hill toward the school while Dean stands there watching him bob in the water.

Dean wades into the shallow water at the edge of the lake, and Seamus wants to shout at him to get out, to get back on dry land and save himself, but before he manages to do more than croak Dean’s name, he’s being pushed forward and then the tentacles are slowly loosening their grip. The one on his leg slides off the slowest. Almost as though the bloody thing’s reluctant to let go.

Seamus feels himself stumble forward in the water, then hands are on him and he reaches out blind, gripping Dean’s arms and shoving him toward the shore. They climb out of the lake to drip on the grass, Seamus shivering in spite of the warm afternoon and Dean’s hands moving on him over his robes, as though he’s checking for injuries.

“Blimey, was that the Giant Squid?” Dean asks, and when Seamus looks up Dean’s staring out at the lake.

“If the tentacles were anything to go by. Reckon it tried to cop a feel as well,” Seamus says, and he tries to laugh, but he hears the way his voice shakes.

Dean frowns, his hands leaving Seamus’ robes to touch his neck. “You’ve got a mark.”

“Bloody thing tried to choke me.”

Dean’s still touching him, fingers warm against his skin and still frowning as he traces the mark the squid left on Seamus’ neck. A thumb traces the line of his jaw, Dean’s eyes following the motion. Seamus wants to ask what he’s doing, because they’re mates and all, but Dean’s never touched him like this before. Except he’s scared if he opens his mouth and says anything that Dean will stop, and if this is the only chance he gets to feel Dean’s hands on him, Seamus isn’t going to waste it.

His fingers trace along Seamus’ cheek, past his ear and then up to his forehead, pushing his fringe away to run a thumb along the tiny scar just next to Seamus’ eye. A gift from Amycus Carrow, one Seamus doesn’t think much about because he’s got plenty more where that came from. They all do, anyone who was here for their first seventh year and was brave enough to stand up for what was right.

Dean’s thumb traces the scar just below his lip next, the one left behind by a Slytherin git who enjoyed the Carrows’ lessons just a bit too much. 

“Should’ve been there,” Dean says, his voice soft, as though he’s not really talking to Seamus so much as to himself.

“’m glad you weren’t,” Seamus answers anyway, his hand coming up to curl around Dean’s wrist. “Knowing you were out there someplace, hoping you were safe, it kept me going, mate. Thinking of you is the only reason I could stand up to them some days.”

Dean makes a sound in his throat that goes straight to Seamus’ cock; that’s nothing new, but it’s the kind of thing he’s always tried to keep under wraps, for the sake of their friendship. Only Dean’s still touching him, thumb tracing his bottom lip now, and for the first time Seamus thinks maybe Dean wouldn't mind if he knew how Seamus felt.

Seamus opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know what to say. He thinks about changing the subject, maybe asking where the others pissed off to, just so Dean will stop looking at him with those sad eyes of his, like he’s the one who did something wrong here. But he can’t think of the right words, and when he shivers again Dean frowns down at his still-wet robes and then reaches out to take his hand.

“Come on.”

Before Seamus has time to ask where they’re going Dean’s dragging him across the grounds, away from the castle and past the lake to the Quidditch pitch. Dean’s legs are longer, so Seamus has to hurry to keep up. But Dean’s hand is warm and sure around his, fingers sliding through Seamus’ and holding on tight, and Seamus knows he’d follow Dean anywhere, as long as he keeps holding on.

Another poncy thought, and Seamus flushes with shame until Dean stops and fixes him with a _look_ , and then he flushes with something else entirely.

Seamus has only been in the Quidditch changing rooms once. It was after Dean’s first match on the Gryffindor team, back before he started spending all his time with Ginny, when Seamus still felt important enough to be sure Dean would want his congratulations. Back then the whole team had been gathered when Seamus burst in, most of them still in their uniforms and spirited enough from their win to grin at him and drag him into the celebration.

There’s no one in the changing room this time. Just him and Dean and the sound of Seamus’ heart pounding so hard in his chest that he’s positive Dean can hear it in the quiet of the room. If he does, he doesn’t say. Instead he pulls Seamus close again, then he lets go of Seamus’ hand and reaches up to unclasp his robe.

“You’ll catch your death,” Dean murmurs as he drops Seamus’ robe onto the bench behind him, then straightens up and reaches for the buttons on Seamus’ uniform shirt.

He wonders why Dean doesn’t just perform a warming charm; he’s always been better at charms than Seamus, and he’s far less likely to set Seamus on fire while he’s trying to dry Seamus’ clothes. But the truth is Seamus isn’t likely to catch his death, not when it’s warm enough outside. So it must be an excuse to touch, and if Dean needs an excuse, Seamus isn’t going to bollocks this up by opening his stupid mouth.

Dean’s fingers work his buttons open slow, pushing the fabric away from Seamus’ skin little by little. And they’ve shared a dorm for over six years now, so they’ve seen each other starkers plenty of times, but it’s never been like this. Dean’s never _looked_ , never paused at each new scar to press his fingers against the mark and make a distressed noise in the back of his throat.

Seamus knows this isn’t normal. Knows this isn’t something mates do, not even the kind of mates who’ve been through everything they have. But he doesn’t want to be just Dean’s mate – hasn’t wanted that for a long time – and if this is Dean offering something more, he’s not fool enough to say no.

“That one’s not from them,” Seamus says when Dean’s thumb slides along the scar just above Seamus’ elbow. “Quidditch accident two summers ago. Was playing with me cousins and ran into a tree.”

His voice sounds funny, and he’s not sure if it’s because it’s so quiet in the changing room, or if it’s just the way Dean’s touching him. A bit of both, he reckons, then he reaches down to cover Dean’s hand with his own.

For a second when Dean looks up at him Seamus thinks it’s a mistake, that he’s finally realized who he’s been touching all this time. But before he can panic Dean’s pushing forward, leaning down and sliding a hand behind Seamus’ neck to tilt his head just so and press their lips together.

He knows Dean’s been kissed more than Seamus has. He’s always had better luck with the girls, partly because he’s tall and gentle and beautiful, and Seamus…well, Seamus has only ever had eyes for Dean. So perhaps he’s not the best kisser, but he closes his fingers around the front of Dean’s robes and pushes up on his toes and hopes that enthusiasm makes up for his lack of finesse.

Reckons it must, if the way Dean’s gripping his hips and pulling him close means anything, so Seamus isn’t shy about scrambling for the catch on Dean’s robe and then the buttons on his shirt until they’re skin to skin. He shivers again when Dean’s tongue slides along his bottom lip, parting to let him in and fingers tracing Dean’s ribs where they’re still sticking out just a bit too much.

“Shower,” Dean murmurs, still breathing against Seamus’ mouth as he manhandles him toward the showers at the back of the room. He’s mumbling something about warming Seamus up, and he wants to laugh, because Seamus feels like he’s on fire everywhere Dean’s touched him. But he lets Dean let go of him long enough to turn on the shower anyway, lets the room fill with steam as they kick off their shoes and struggle out of the rest of their clothes.

He almost falls over at one point, but Dean catches him around the waist and holds him steady, palm hot against Seamus’ back and smiling down at him. Laughing, a bit, most likely, but Seamus doesn’t really mind. It’s hard to mind anything when he’s pressed up against Dean wearing nothing but his pants, Dean’s trousers undone and hanging low on his hips as he leans in to kiss Seamus again.

“Wanted this for so long,” Seamus hears himself say, and he wasn’t planning to admit it, but he has a feeling Dean already knows. “Christ, mate…”

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispers between kisses, hands on his trousers to help Seamus shuck them off. Seamus doesn’t ask what he’s sorry for; there’s no point, and anyway there’s no reason for him to be sorry. None of it matters anymore, not now, when Dean’s hooking his thumbs in Seamus’ pants and sliding them down until Seamus’ cock springs free.

Then Dean’s hands are on him again, curving around his hips and steering him backwards into the shower. His thumb trails along the scar just above Seamus’ hip bone, left there by a nasty Crucio that caught Seamus during the final battle. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but the scar’s still tender, even after all this time, and he doesn’t quite hold back a hiss at the weirdness of someone else’s fingers pressing against it for the first time.

Dean pulls his hand back and looks up at him, and Seamus braces himself for another apology, but instead he eases Seamus back against the tile wall and pushes forward to kiss him again. He’s still got his pants on, water turning the red fabric dark against Dean’s skin and Seamus’ hands slide down Dean’s hips without his permission to push under the fabric. As soon as his fingers make it past the elastic Dean makes a little grunting noise and pushes forward, thigh pressing between Seamus’ legs and kissing him hard.

Up to now it’s been soft and gentle, as though Dean’s afraid Seamus is going to break. And Seamus has been letting him, because he never dreamed – hoped – Dean would offer this, and now that he has, Seamus is terrified to do anything that might make him take it back. But he wants more; wants _everything_ , wants Dean’s hands and his mouth and the noises he makes, as though he’s been thinking about this for awhile now. He wants to make Dean come so hard he’ll never think of letting anyone else touch him ever again, wants to claim Dean as his own and mark him so everyone knows.

The angle’s not perfect, and Seamus curses his Irish genes and presses up on his toes again to kiss Dean harder, hands still pushing his pants down to curve around his arse. It gets him a moan, then Dean’s hand is pushing between them to close around Seamus’ cock and it’s just a quick pull in the showers, so it shouldn’t be this hot, but Seamus feels the pressure building in his belly anyway.

His balls tighten and his hands squeeze Dean harder, pulling him closer so his hand’s trapped between them, thumb sliding over the head of Seamus’ prick with each rough stroke until Seamus is panting against Dean’s shoulder and coming in his hand.

It’s not the first time he’s ever gotten off from someone else’s touch. There have been stolen kisses and fumbling touches a time or two, a couple girls during sixth year when he was still trying to convince himself, and a Muggle boy back home in the summer before their seventh year when he finally admitted the truth. But it wasn’t Dean; never Dean, and up to now Seamus had convinced himself it never would be.

Dean’s hips are still moving against him, arse rolling a bit in Seamus’ grip as he brushes his lips against Seamus’ temple, tongue sliding out to taste the salt of Seamus’ skin. It takes a moment or two to realize that Dean’s waiting, that he’s _hard_ – has been for awhile – and he’s just waiting for Seamus to pull himself together and return the favor.

Seamus watches the shower soaking Dean’s skin, a drop of water landing on Dean’s shoulder and rolling down to pool in the too-sharp hollow of his collar bone. Seamus leans forward and presses his mouth to the spot, licks away the drop of water and then sucks hard at Dean’s skin, and when Dean’s fingers slide into his hair to grip him hard and he murmurs _Seamus_ under his breath, like a prayer, Seamus’ knees shake as though he’s been hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx.

He slides to the wet floor without giving himself time to think, hands on Dean’s legs to pull his sodden pants off and chuck them out of the shower to land with a wet noise on the changing room floor. The sound makes him want to laugh, except he’s kneeling in front of his best mate at eye level with his cock, and if this is more than Dean bargained for, there’s no way he can take it back.

Seamus ventures a glance up at him anyway, takes in parted lips and wide, dark eyes, sees the nerves in Dean’s expression. He doesn’t look like he wants to stop Seamus, though; doesn’t look as though he’s planning to reach down and pull Seamus back onto his feet, tell him that it’s alright, that he’s misunderstood and Dean doesn’t want that from him. Instead he pushes his fingers through Seamus’ wet hair again, pushing his fringe back from his eyes and tracing the shell of his ear with a long finger, as though he can’t quite believe Seamus is real.

That’s all the encouragement Seamus needs, so he reaches out to wrap a hand around Dean’s cock and gives it a few tentative strokes. Dean lets out a moan and rocks into his grip, and when Seamus looks up again Dean’s got his eyes closed and his head thrown back, long neck on display and Seamus wants to scramble back onto his feet and taste all that skin.

 _Later_ , he thinks, surprises himself with how sure he is there will be a later. But he _is_ sure, because now that he knows Dean wants this – wants him – he’s never going to let Dean slip away again.

Seamus has never sucked anybody off before, not even the Muggle boy. He’s fairly sure Dean’s never been sucked off either; as far as Seamus knows, Dean and Ginny mostly just snogged, then they mostly just argued until they didn’t do anything at all anymore. So he doesn’t picture Ginny on her knees in front of Dean, doesn’t wonder about the things Dean got up to while he was on the run, or why he’s suddenly decided to let a bloke kneel in front of him and run an inexpert tongue down the length of his cock.

Except Seamus isn’t just any bloke; he knows Dean better than probably anyone, including Ginny and even his mam, and this is just one more thing about Dean that he knows now. It’s just another part of what make them _them_ , and when Seamus finally closes his mouth around the head of Dean’s cock and slides his lips down as far as he can, he isn’t nervous at all.

It takes a bit of concentration to find a rhythm, to remember to keep his teeth out of the equation, and he can’t get his mouth down nearly as far as he expected to. So he uses his hand as well, still wrapped firm around the base of Dean’s cock, stroking in time with his mouth, and pulling off every so often to give his jaw a rest while he stares up at Dean.

Seamus has sat through mass often enough with his Da and his Granny to know what it means to worship. That’s what this feels like, on his knees in front of Dean and watching him screw his eyes shut and breathe Seamus’ name over and over, hand tight in Seamus’ hair like that’s all that’s keeping him upright. He supposes he’s been worshipping Dean a long time now, so getting on his knees for him feels natural.

The thought makes him laugh, the sound vibrating around Dean’s cock as Seamus lets him slide back into wet heat, and when he feels Dean shudder above him Seamus reaches up to press a hand against Dean’s stomach before he does it again. He feels the vibration in his palm, feels the way Dean’s breath stutters and his whole body jerks forward, as though he’s trying to get closer.

So Seamus picks up the speed, ignores the ache in his jaw and sucks hard, lips sliding up until just the tip of Dean’s cock is still in his mouth and then sucks again. He tastes bitter and salt, knows from jacking off under his covers to images of his best mate and then tasting his own come on his fingers that Dean’s close.

Dean says his name again, but his voice is broken and when his fingers tighten in Seamus’ hair, he thinks it’s a warning. An invitation to pull off before it’s too late, so Seamus does. He pulls his mouth away with a wet pop and tightens his grip, sitting back on his heels and jacking Dean hard until he tenses and sprays a white pattern across his stomach. Seamus loosens his grip but doesn’t stop moving, still jerking slowly until Dean stops shuddering and reaches out a hand to brace himself against the shower wall.

Seamus knows he should get up, let Dean slump against him and catch his breath, but instead he pushes back up onto his knees and grips Dean’s hips, then he leans forward and slides his tongue along Dean’s stomach. He gathers the bitter salt taste on his tongue, rolls it around while he learns Dean’s flavor, then dips his head to do it again. Dean’s breath hitches above him, and when Seamus glances up Dean’s staring down at him, eyes still blown wide with lust and tugging on Seamus’ hair until he takes the hint and stands up.

Dean kisses him hard again, tongue pushing past his teeth to taste the flavor of himself on Seamus’ tongue. Seamus’ back hits the wall again and Dean leans hard against him, breathing heavy against his mouth as Seamus kisses him back. He slides his hands up Dean’s back, traces the curve of his spine and wonders if it's going to ache later from bending over to kiss him. Wonders if Dean would let Seamus climb into his bed and pull the curtains shut and rub out the ache.

It’s a daft enough thought to keep him from saying it out loud; they’re still sharing a dorm with Harry and Ron and Neville, after all, a new addition to the tower added on just for the returning seventh years. Not that Seamus gives a damn what any of the rest of their mates think, but Dean might, and this thing between them is new enough that he’s still scared to say the wrong thing and break it.

So he lets Dean kiss him, then he lets Dean rinse them both off and turn off the water, watches while Dean casts a perfect warming charm to dry their clothes and then their skin. He watches Dean out of the corner of his eye while they dress, watches dark skin disappear behind the familiar uniform until it’s just them again, just Dean and Seamus, best mates since forever.

Seamus ignores the flutter in his stomach at the thought of going back to the castle, because he’s a soldier, for fuck’s sake, and he learned how not to be afraid long ago. He tells himself he believes it and reaches for the door, pulling it open and putting a foot outside the changing room before a hand closes around his arm to draw him back inside.

“Mate,” Dean begins, and Seamus looks up at him, braces himself for the moment when Dean takes it all back. Then Dean shakes his head and reaches up to run his fingers along Seamus’ neck again, touch feather-soft and leaving Seamus aching. “The mark’s gone. From the squid, I mean.”

Seamus nods and reaches up to curl his hand around Dean’s wrist, just resting there for a beat or two before he ducks his head and flashes his most cheeky grin. “Just as well. Hate to muck up these good looks.”

When he looks up again Dean’s smiling at him, soft and affectionate, and Seamus’ heart starts to race again. 

“Be a shame, that,” Dean says, then he leans in and brushes their lips together, and Seamus thinks that maybe Dean wouldn’t mind their friends knowing about them after all.

~

He expects to walk into the Great Hall to find all eyes on them, as though everyone can tell just by looking what they’ve been up to. A few people do look up when they come in, but it’s mostly their friends, ready with an unfunny joke about Seamus’ dip in the lake. They don’t say anything about what happened after, and they don’t seem to notice the way Dean sits just a little closer than usual, arm pressed against Seamus’ shoulder and their thighs touching under the table.

He’s not acting any different; he’s not even looking at Seamus, because he’s busy laughing at whatever Ron and Hermione are sniping about on the other side of the table. But every so often Dean’s leg presses a bit harder against his, or his fingers brush across Seamus’ knuckles, barely a touch, so quick no one would notice. Seamus notices, flushes red every time, and when he braves a glance at Dean, Seamus catches the hint of a pleased smile.

That’s how they go on for the rest of the evening, back in the common room with their house mates. Seamus does his best to act like himself, carries on a spirited argument with Ron about the merits of remaining loyal to the Chudley Cannons when there’s clearly not a prayer of them finishing anywhere other than in last place. 

Ron insists that loyalty is an admirable quality. Seamus insists that Ron’s touched, but privately he agrees about the loyalty. He steals a glance at Dean to find him grinning back at Seamus, and when his heart stutters in his chest he reckons he might as well get used to the feeling.

They’re the last of their year to head up to their dormitory. There are still a few students in the common room when they go, mostly harried fifth years already cramming for their O.W.L.s and muttering under their breath about Vanishing Charms and Calming Draughts and the care and feeding of Bowtruckles.

Seamus leads Dean up the stairs, his heart pounding harder with each step that takes them closer to their dormitory. They’re halfway up the top staircase when he screws up the nerve and stops, a step above Dean and turning to face him. Dean looks up at him, lips parted to ask what’s wrong, but before he gets the chance Seamus is pulling him close and kissing him.

Dean hooks an arm around Seamus’ waist and kisses him back, lips parting under his and his teeth grazing Seamus’ bottom lip to draw a gasp out of him. Seamus wants to stay right here, wants to go on kissing Dean for hours and days – forever – but too soon Dean’s pulling back and pressing their foreheads together to close his eyes and breathe in deep.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, so soft that at first Seamus thinks he’s imagining it. Then Dean presses forward and brushes their lips together again before he pulls back and opens his eyes. “Didn’t even know how much until I saw you that day in the Room of Requirement.”

His free hand comes up to touch Seamus’ face, fingers brushing bruises that have long since faded, and Seamus has to close his eyes and turn his face into Dean’s touch to press his lips against Dean’s palm.

“Me too,” is all he says, all he can manage around the lump in his throat, but when Dean nods and kisses him again, Seamus knows he understands.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs below them reminds him where they are, and Seamus flushes again and turns to climb the last few stairs to their dormitory. It’s dark when they step inside, the sound of familiar, steady breaths the only sound in the room. They change out of their uniforms in the dark, and when Seamus remembers the feeling of Dean’s hands peeling his clothes off earlier in the day, he has to stop and take a few deep breaths to calm himself.

Finally he manages to wrestle his pajamas on and climb onto his bed, listening to Dean still moving in the dark. Seamus wants to say something, maybe _goodnight_ or _thanks for today_ or even _I love you_. Instead he lies still under the sheet and watches Dean’s outline in the moonlight as he moves about the room, waiting for the moment when Dean disappears behind the curtains of his own bed and goes to sleep alone.

He wonders what Dean would do if Seamus climbed in with him, then he tells himself he’s not that big a girl and he’s slept on his own every night of his life, so there’s no reason he needs Dean to fall asleep now. But it’s been a long day, starting with the bloody squid trying to drown him, and ending with…Dean, the memory of his hands on Seamus’ skin and their lips pressed together, and before long Seamus feels his eyes start to close.

He’s half asleep when he feels the curtains rustle, only they’re his curtains, not Dean’s, and a second later someone warm and solid and familiar is sliding in next to him. An arm hooks around his waist to pull him close, lips brushing his ear when Dean leans in to ask, “Alright?”

Seamus nods, thinks about turning over and showing Dean exactly how alright it is. But even if they don’t mind the thought of him and Dean, Seamus knows for certain Neville and the others won’t appreciate a demonstration. So he reaches up instead and covers the hand that’s resting against his stomach, fingers threading together and listening to the sound of Dean’s steady breathing until he falls asleep.


End file.
